


Like Riding a Bike

by clotpoleofthelord (plantainleaf)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bicycles, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-30
Updated: 2013-09-30
Packaged: 2017-12-28 00:46:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/985636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plantainleaf/pseuds/clotpoleofthelord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's always bothered Dean that Cas can't ride a bike.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Riding a Bike

Cas is sitting in his robe in the library, flipping through a book and sipping a mug of tea, when Dean pokes his head in the doorway with a broad grin. Cas puts his tea down cautiously and puts a bookmark in his novel, setting it on the table beside him. 

"Hello, Dean."

Dean's grin widens. "Hey, Cas." He doesn't move, just keeps grinning.

Cas sighs. "Did you need something?"

Dean snorts. "Come on. It's probably the last nice day of the fall. Don't waste it in here."

When Cas doesn't move, Dean's grin drops a little, and he shakes his head. "You can't just mope in here forever, Cas."

Dean feels a flicker of annoyance flit through him, and he scowls at the former angel. "I'm not _moping_ , Dean. I'm researching." He picks up the book and waves it at Dean for emphasis. "There are a number of catastrophic events in progress, or have you forgotten?"

Dean's mouth draws into a tight line. "Yeah. I know." He sighs. "But dude, you can't research all the time. You gotta get out more."

Cas is about to make a sharp retort, but something in Dean's eyes–pleading, almost–makes him hesitate and stand slowly. "What do you want me to do?"

Dean brightens instantly. "Put some real clothes on, man. I got a surprise for you." He turns and disappears down the hallway.

Cas considers his book for a moment, tempted to just sit back down. But the image of Dean's disappointed face lingers and he sighs, annoyed, and stands. As he stretches he groans as his muscles protest. _Maybe Dean had a point,_ he thinks grudgingly, and shuffles towards the room Dean had told him they'd saved him when he'd arrived at the bunker a few weeks ago.

He pulls on jeans borrowed from Dean and a shirt he'd found at a Goodwill in Junction City on a shopping trip with Kevin and Sam. It's plaid, like most of the Winchesters' wardrobes, but in soft blue and red lines. It makes him smile to put it on–it's the first item of clothing he picked for _himself_ , and he's proud of that. He knows it's small, not that important in the greater scheme of things, but making small decisions is difficult to someone who's spent his life taking orders. The large rebellions? Those come easier, pushed forward by adrenaline and panic and the drive to do what's right. The minor ones, though, those are different. They don't matter, not in any way he can understand. And yet somehow, there's satisfaction in wearing the product of his irrelevant choices.

He tugs on socks and shoes and walks to the bunker's door, smiling at Sam and Kevin where they're sitting in the kitchen with a plate of Dean's pancakes between them.

Dean's just outside the door, kneeling on the ground in front of a battered blue bicycle. He brightens when he sees Cas, standing and brushing off his knees. "Hey!" His voice is warm, and the sunlight brightens the blond in his hair and the sparkle in his eyes. Cas notices the lines around his eyes, deeper than before, but now most of them are from laughter, not from grief.

Dean takes the handlebars and wheels the bike closer until he and Cas are just a foot apart.

Cas watches him silently, eyes narrow, and when Dean leans the bike towards him he makes no move to take it.

Dean sighs and leans forward, voice low. "You said you couldn't ride a bike. I figured it was time for you to learn."

Cas hesitates. He knows people have ridden them for centuries, knows the mechanics of balance and force, but somehow he can't quite imagine how he could possibly pilot one himself. 

Dean leans the bike further towards him until the handlebar brushes Cas's wrist. "Come on, Cas. I won't let you fall."

Cas can't help a snort at the irony, and Dean looks like he's about to say something, then shakes his head. "Sorry."

"It's all right, Dean." He reaches over, takes the handlebars, one in each hand. "What do I do?"

Dean's hand is still on the handlebar and Cas can feel the heat of it alongside his own.

"Swing your leg over, come on, Cas. You can figure this out." His voice is quiet, inches from Cas's ear, and Cas follows the instruction. He straddles the crossbar, feeling a little ridiculous, and turns his face towards Dean's.

Dean blinks at him a moment, eyes wide and unguarded, and Cas has the ridiculous urge to touch him or kiss him or _something_. He's not sure what to do, but Dean turns away and clears his throat and Cas swallows audibly and looks down at the bike underneath him.

"I'm gonna hold the bike with you, okay?" Dean says, voice husky. "Just until you've got it." He wraps a warm hand around Cas's own where it's tightly gripping the bike, and places the other one on the back of the seat. "Scoot back onto the seat, Cas."

Cas obeys, calves stretching to keep his feet flat on the ground.

"Right foot up on the pedal. Now I'll keep you upright while you do the left, all right?"

The bike wobbles a little, but Dean's holding him secure just as he promised he would. His next words are barely a whisper in Cas's ear. "Push down with the pedal that's up, okay?"

Cas nods and his hands clench tighter as the bike jerks forward. Dean's thumb brushes over his hand and he relaxes a little, following with the second foot and feeling the motion get smoother. 

Dean's jogging beside him, now, and Cas is starting to feel like he's found his rhythm. There's a smoothness to the motion, constant and rolling as the wheel turns, and he pedals faster.

Dean is panting a little now and he quickly explains about the handbrakes, reminding Cas to press them slowly and then lower his feet to the ground. Cas feels Dean's hand slide from his own, then from the handlebar entirely. It's not until he's travelled another fifty or so feet that he realizes Dean's support is gone from him completely. 

He's riding it on his own, and it's almost like flying.

He applies the brakes, slowing as he turns around the wide road and coasts to a stop. He doesn't quite get his feet untangled and there's a moment of panic as the bike tips, but then Dean's warm hands are around his elbows and there's a white grin in his face.

This time, he doesn't resist the urge. He leans forward and presses his lips to Dean's. Dean's eyes widen, freezing just long enough for Cas to find his footing on either side of the bike, then responds with a long, shuddery breath against Cas's lips.

Cas's finger slide up to tangle in the short hair at the back of Dean's neck and Dean palms down Cas's sides, the bicycle still between them, and they kiss in the middle of the road in the afternoon sun.


End file.
